Naming the Baby
by Salsify
Summary: Faramir and Eowyn discuss what to name their first child. No plot, no angst, just a short piece of fluff.


Disclaimer: However much I admire his work, I'm not Tolkien and I never will be. This is a work of fan fiction, done entirely for the fun of exploring the blank places in the history of Middle-earth.

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"Let me be certain I understand you correctly. You want to name our baby Túrin?"

Faramir nodded cautiously. He had chosen the herb garden of their new home as the best setting to bring up the matter of a name for the baby . The garden still looked a little bare and ragged around the edges, but after most of a season's growth, it had become a pleasant and tranquil place. Watching his wife yank a bit of grass up by the roots, he wondered if its soothing qualities were going to be equal to this occasion.

"After the Túrin of the First Age?" she ask, glaring at the tuft of grass as if she suspected it of being a miniature Nazgûl.

Faramir nodded again. "Also after one of my ancestors, but primarily after that Túrin."

"The one who slew Beleg and Brandir and I cannot remember how many others? The one who left Finduilas to die? The one who got his sister with child?" Éowyn's voice rose with each succeeding question until it reached a very alarming level.

Why had he let her get between him and the gate? Even with her belly beginning to round from the child growing within, Faramir thought she could easily cut off his escape. The fence was low enough that he could leap it, but there were a couple of laundresses hanging linens out to dry on the lavender hedge just beyond and he had his dignity to consider. His nod this time was approaching desperate. Uncle Imrahil, who had more experience with such matters than most men of Gondor, had impressed upon him the need to humor a pregnant wife.

"I see," said Eowyn with icy composure. "Or rather, I do _not_ see. Why would you wish to burden our son with a name of such ill omen?"

"Túrin was a great warrior, and struggled nobly against the curse that Morgoth laid on his family. Why should I not wish to recall those traits by naming a child after him?"

Eowyn flung up her hands. "If you wish to bring to mind noble traits, why not use a name like Beorhtsige or Harding? Why do the people of Gondor afflict their children with names like Túrin, that can only remind the hearer of tragedy and defeat?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and took a breath to explain, and found he could go no further. He knew she was going to take his explanation the wrong way, but he also knew that she would not leave the matter alone until she was satisfied. He tried again. "Among the common people, there is a belief that everyone must meet with a certain amount of unhappiness in life. Parents choose names that are associated with misfortune in the hope that the name alone will be enough misery for one lifetime. They do not wish to tempt fate by giving their children names that are too auspicious."

She stared at him so long and so skeptically that he almost laughed. Finally she snorted and shook her head. "Only among the common people, hmm? I suppose the nobles never let such considerations weigh with them in the least."

"No, never," said Faramir very solemnly. "The noble families of Gondor are too wise and well-informed to think that our fate can be controlled with a name."

"But evidently not wise enough to come up with a good explanation for why we should name our son Túrin."

"I like the way it sounds?" he suggested hopefully.

She threw a sprig of thyme at him. "After what you just said, do you honestly expect me to believe that? If _you _are not superstitious, then I see no reason to give our child a name that drips gloom and despair."

He gave her his most sincere look and said, "I still like the way it sounds."

Evidently he was going to have to work a little harder on that look, because she sighed and said, "I can see that we will get nowhere with this argument today. Shall we just leave the matter for later? We still have some time."

"Yes," said Faramir gratefully, "and who knows, the child may be a girl. We could call her Aredhel."

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Beorhtsige: bright victory

Harding: brave man, warrior


End file.
